Childhood Lost
by Elisabeth Pryor
Summary: Rita Skeeter, the blonde bombshell we have all come to know and love, or hate, whichever the case may be had a horrific childhood, told here.


Childhood Lost

Chapter One- Changes

Rita scanned the hungry breakfast crowd at The Orange Duck, the pub closest to her flat—well, penthouse, really—and waited impatiently. The pub was unusually busy for a Tuesday morning.

"Rita!" a voice called over the hustle and bustle of cheery chatter. Mara Lynde hurried over to the corner booth Rita had snagged moments after the pub had opened. "Clever, Skeet," Mara intoned appreciatively. "So. What was it you wanted to tell me that couldn't possibly wait for term to start?" Leaning forward on her elbows, Mara fiddled with her plaits, waiting breathlessly for an answer.

Rita sighed; a sigh too heavy for an eleven-year-old girl to be heaving on such a bright and beautiful day.

A frown marred her friend's smooth forehead. "Skeet? Is something wrong at home?"

"No," Rita replied. How could she explain this? "Mara…I'm…I'm not going to Wiltshire Prep this year. Or any year."

"What? Skeet. We're supposed to have adventures together! Drive Headmistress Thomas mad with our antics! Skeet!" She leaned back in her seat, staring bewilderedly across the stained tabletop, into the sad hazel eyes of her very best mate.

"I know. Mum says I need to get a better education. Wilt has the absolute best journalism programme around, but Mum and Dad both say that's all Hogwarts—erm—hogwash—you know. Not good enough. A journalist is some fantasy career to them, like an actress."

"Skeet," Mara said sensibly, "wasn't it good enough for Patricia? And what about Irene and Eva? Are _they_ still going to Wilt?"

"Well…Yes. But they're not desperate for the journalism class, like I am."

"That's absolute rubbish! Just because your parents love your sisters more and treat them better—oh, my gosh. Skeet, I'm so sorry. Really, I am. It's just…they get treated better than you do. All of us have noticed. Ems, Kate, Jane—all of us! Now, at least, you won't have to see them at school every day. Where are you going, then? Alton? Nichols?"

"It's a boarding school, Mara," replied Rita flatly. "I'll only be home on long holidays, maybe not even for Christmas or Easter. It's a…special school."

Mara sat in stunned silence. "No. No _way_. There's no way they can do this to us. Or you. It's just not fair. You—you could run away! If all four of us pool our pocket money, you could get a really spare flat somewhere close to Wilt! It's brill!" Her freckled face instantly brightened.

"No, Mara! Don't you understand? I have to go to Hog—this school! I was selected, and, and I got a full scholarship. They're paying for everything. So there's absolutely _no_ way for me _not_ to go." She took a shuddering breath. "In fact," she revealed, "I almost _want_ to go." Her head dropped to the table on top of her arms. Her voice, muffled, continued. "I'll write. Honest. I just want to…to not be pestered and ignored at home. You didn't tell me anything about my sisters or my parents that I didn't already know. Don't you see how this appeals to Mum and Dad? It's a cheap and easy way for them to get rid of the ugly child they don't love. Besides," she raised her head, "it's in Scotland."

Mara stared in disbelief. "Let me get this straight," she said. "A boarding school, and a Scottish one at that, got your records from Devonshire and gave you a full-paid term."

"No, Mara. Not just one term, seven _years_. I'll come home during summer holidays, though. You can't stay there year-round."

Mara fiddled with her silverware, not looking at her friend. "Okay," she said, finally accepting what could not be changed. "What is it called? This mad school that's taking you away from us?"

"I'm so glad you finally understand. We study all the basics—maths, French, maybe even some Latin. The grounds are huge! There's a lake and a forest and—"

"Rita!" hissed Mara through clenched teeth. "What. Is. Its. Name?"

"Well," Rita said, a bit shaken, "now that you mention it, I, erm, I don't really know. Mum just told me that I have to go and that it's in Scotland, miles away from anything. I think she said it's in an old castle or something."

Mara looked skeptical. "Honestly, Rita. D'you expect me to believe that? An old Scottish castle? Absolute madness, this is. Well, I'm off. Me, Ems, and Kate are going shopping. If you weren't leaving, you could come with us. But I'm sure you have to pack." Off she huffed, her brown plaits swinging angrily behind her.

"Ring me," Rita whispered into her now cold cup of tea. "I thought Mara, of all people, would understand," she said to herself. She reached into her pack and pulled out the small piece of parchment that caused all this trouble; this horrid letter received in the post just last Thursday.

'Dear Miss Skeeter,' the mahogany ink read. 'We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

_Rutherford Banks_

Rutherford Banks,

Deputy Headmaster.'

"Rubbish," Rita said aloud.

"My. Well, dear, please don't take your disappointment out on the ham, now. It doesn't deserve it." A waitress with unruly curly hair stood over her with a pot of fresh tea.

"Sorry," mumbled Rita, throwing a few pence down to pay for her tea. Grabbing her pack, out of the Orange Duck she ran.


End file.
